


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by Wishme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Hunting, M/M, Martial Arts, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:12:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/Wishme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wants to join the family business, Dean and Cas show him the ropes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit Me With Your Best Shot

With Cas outfitted correctly--his boots finally broken in after a few weekends of tromping through the forest that backs up to the bunker and a bit more muscle packed on from hauling old boxes out of back room--Dean can’t justify the inevitable. The guy has been asking for weeks about the next hunt, digging up cases in Missouri and Tennessee, and Dean has been deflecting them with, “Once you’re better. Can’t have you taken out on your first hunt.”

 

The same words are on his tongue when Cas corners him while he’s doing dishes. His mouth opens and is surprised when he says, “Yeah, we just need to suit you up.”  The triumph in Cas’s eyes is paired with an efficient nod and Dean just passes him the pot to finish drying, their elbows jostling companionably in silence.

 

Which is how Dean finds himself in the map room the next day, the massive table covered in talismans, assorted weapons, half-filled vial,s and assorted other hunter detritus. Sam had walked in about halfway through his “organizing” process and walked right back out again without a word. So what if his process didn’t look pretty; he knows where everything is. It’s good to go. “Cas!” he bellows, the words echoing down the corridor.

 

It’s only a few minutes until the other man walks through the door, rolling up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, “You rang?”

 

“Nice of you to show up.” Dean rubs his hands together, “Alright, so Hunter 101: Gear is God.” He grins at the look Cas shoots him, “Sometimes all that’s between you and the other guy biting the dust is either who has the better gear or who can use it better. We’re just going to hit the basics today to see what you need and what we need to work on.”

 

Cas bristles, “Dean, I’m perfectly capable…”

 

“Yes, we know, Smitey McSmiterson: Angel of the lord, celestial badass, whatever. We don’t know how you fight depowered. Hell, we don’t know how you’ll react to holy oil or summonings or whatever now that your mojo is gone. What I can do is make sure you’re prepared enough to fight like we humans do so we don’t find out the hard way when you’re on the wrong end of a knife, capice?”

 

Something about the way Dean’s voice hardens on the last few words takes the fight out of Cas and he nods. Dean walks him through the bits on the table, some items are from his kit, others they’d unearthed from the bunker storage. Cas grabs a kit bag, a knife that needs some sharpening, a few vials of holy water, a few wooden stakes ( _You laugh, but you never know_ ). His hand hovers over the small pile of rosaries, some spotted with rust, others with their chains near worn through. At his hesitation, Dean shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls his own out to show Cas. Blue beads have faded unevenly, some are chipped, the weight of the crucifix pulling it towards earth. “My mom’s,” the hunter says gruffly. “You just have to believe that it will make holy water. It’s not gonna open up angel radio. Doesn’t have to be anything other than that, ok?” He searches his friend’s face, trying to meet the eyes still cast down at the pile of glass and metal. Cas picks at the strands, fingers the chain of one, finally extracting it, the bronze crucifix stark against it’s own green beads and the flesh of his palm. The clasp is broken and there’s no filigree work to be found, just a simple loop of glass and cast bronze. He rubs his thumb over the tarnished metal before placing it in a pocket next to the holy water. They move on.

 

None of the protection talismans hold any appeal to Cas. In fact he scoffs at a few for their shoddy workmanship and obvious loopholes. Dean makes a note to ask him to do that for the rest of the ones in the box they found: must utilize resident genius. He picks up another two knives, smaller ones for throwing, balancing the weight in his palm before shoving them into the back of his belt. Dean’s eyebrows raise, but all he says is, “Now, for guns.”

 

Sam joins them for this exercise, Dean remembering how good he was with Adam for the short time they were together. On a blanket on the ground lay a rather impressive array of shotguns, rifles and handguns along with their assorted shot.  Sam starts Cas off with the standard speech about not pointing the gun at anyone and leaving your finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. Dean’s thrilled to not be on the receiving end of Cas’s bitchface for once. They go through loading the magazine and stance and finally Sam lets Cas, whose face is now at a level 4 scowl, finally take a shot. He knocks down about half of the beer cans, bitching about adjusting for wind. “I watched these develop, Sam. I have a working theoretical knowledge of their mechanics.”

 

Sam laughs at that and claps him on the shoulder and Cas shoots the next round down with sniper precision. They high five and move on down the line. Turns out the only firearm Cas has any issues with is the twelve gauge shotgun: the recoil is a bitch. The shot goes wide and Cas fucking _yelps_ , sending Dean into fits of laughter, Sam covering his chuckle with a cough at the look their friend shoots his brother. He’s better with the sawed-off, but not much, and they collectively decide that one bruised shoulder is enough for now and Cas can practice with it later. Two aspirin and a tall glass of water appear next to Cas’s dinner plate as an apology from Dean and he takes them without fuss.

 

Day two finds them in the basement gym after a short warm-up run through the forest. Sam is still off finishing his planned five miles so it’s just the two of them and a faded padded mat. Dean feels absurd in the shorts and crew neck they grabbed from the closet, but Cas’s lean legs look even longer and he can’t bring himself to complain too much. He eyes those legs as he takes Cas through a series of stretches, his own hamstrings complaining. It’s rapidly apparent that Cas is far more flexible than Dean and has a decent amount of body awareness that comes from years of training. Millennia of training. Whatever. Putting his friend’s timeline into concrete terms makes Dean’s head hurt.

 

Most of Dean’s training came from the school yard, quite literally. New kids are always a target and Dean was the perpetual new kid. He’d lost track of the number of fights he’d gotten into, lost, but he learned from each and every one. It wasn’t until Sam had left for Stanford that he’d looked into any training, but the silence at the one dojo he’d tried chafed and he stuck to Youtube videos and Jackie Chan movies and those tricks he’d learned fighting dirty in bars after one last game of pool got too rowdy. It seemed to work; he hadn’t died yet. Well, not in a fight at least.

 

Lining up across a seam in the mat, they nod at each other and move in, trading a series of punches, blocks and kicks.  They move efficiently, but without too much haste, testing the other, attempting to draw him to bare a weak spot. Where Dean’s strikes are brutal and efficient, Cas’s are quick and graceful, but no less devastating. Neither are working at full strength and neither notice the reckless grins that break across their faces as they pull back.

 

And then it begins, a ruthless exchange of blows. Cas clips Dean’s ribs, Dean’s heel hits Cas’s hip and he twists, using his momentum to bring Dean forward and off balance. Dean hooks his foot around the other man’s ankle, a quick shift to push him backward before Cas spins away. There’s a flurry of limbs, Cas gliding across the floor, his entire body a graceful weapon. Dean outweighs the other man by a good ten pounds at least and is significantly less light on his feet, but what he lacks in footwork he makes up in sheer stubbornness, deftly blocking blows that vibrate through his bones. Cas drops his shoulder and Dean is already halfway committed to his sequence before he realizes it’s a trap and Cas’s leg hooks behind his, sending him to the mat in a brutal arm bar. Dean laughs and slaps his free arm on the mat, trying to wedge his heel into Cas’s hip and dislodge him. The other man swings around and straddles his torso, pinning his arms to the mat, grinning into his face. “You got moves, man.”

 

Cas preens, but doesn’t give an inch. Dean bucks underneath him, feet scrabbling for purchase. The other man’s hands tighten on his forearms, pressing further, enough that Dean can feel each exhale. Dean forces his muscles to relax before surging up just enough to press his lips against his friend’s before landing back on the mat. Cas’s tongue darts out to lick the space where Dean’s mouth used to be before swooping down to take Dean’s lips again. Hands tightening on Dean’s forearms, he licks into the seam of his friend’s mouth, leaving Dean with no other option but to open up to the kiss. His hips rise to elicit a groan from Cas and the pressure on his arms is gone, Cas cupping his face, one of his own hands reaching up to fist in Cas’s hair. A nip at his lower lip and Cas’s back arches, and Dean flips them over. He grins down at the stunned man below him and a chorus of laughter echoes through the concrete walled room. Their kisses grow lazy and drawn out, eased over cheekbones and jawlines, trailing along the curve of necks and lingering in the space between breaths.

 

“Really guys? I leave you alone for like thirty minutes,” Sam says from the doorway.

 

Dean smirks up at his brother, “I’ll have you know he kicked my ass. He gets a gold star. And everyone knows positive reinforcement is best.”

 

Sam throws his hands up and leaves, hopefully to the showers because that kid is _sweaty_. Cas’s hands guide Dean’s eyes back to his and says “So, I pass?”

 

“Sure do. You’re going to have to teach me those moves, you know.”

 

“I told you I had centuries of practice.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. So you were right; I’m impressed. Now get your centuries of practice upstairs. I got a few more moves to show you.”

 

“Dean, that was the worst innuendo I’ve…”

 

“Shut up or no blow jobs.”

 

“..your side of the bed or mine?”

 

“Both.”

 

As the two men pad up the stairs, Dean knocks his shoulders into Cas. “You did really good today.”  Cas rubs the shoulder still bruised from the bout with the shotgun and Dean chuckles, “That shotgun knocked me on my ass the first time I tried to use it. Granted, I was ten. But with your fighting moves and your sword skills we know you already have, you should be fine.”

 

Dean smacks his head with his palm, “Sword! Right, we should get you a machete or something. But that’s only single edge and you’re used to double edged. I bet there’s something in the store room we can-,” He breaks off at Cas’s laugh, “What?”

 

“You’re such a nerd.”

 

“Me? Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Nerd Angel.”

 

“Your weapons knowledge is almost as extensive as your enthusiasm for them. I believe that denotes nerd territory.”

 

Dean splutters and Cas grins up at him, “Come  on. If you’re good I’ll show you how to throw knives tomorrow.”

 

“Hell, yes!” Dean decides that being a nerd is awesome if it means more sex with his awesome knife-throwing boyfriend.

 

Rounding the corner they run into Sam, towel slung on his hips. Dean clips his shoulder and says, “That case in Tupelo you mentioned?” His brother nods, “Gear up. We got three on the case this time. Should be able to head out day after tomorrow.”

  
Sams questions are drowned out by Cas kissing Dean soundly, pushing him down the hallway to their room. The last thing they hear before they emerge the next morning is Sam’s half-hearted “Assholes,” thrown after their retreating forms.

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to tundraeternal for the beta!


End file.
